


Relapse

by cherryflood



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eating Disorders, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Reader is a detective, Reader-Insert, Romance, Swearing, a boy isnt a cure though k guys?, but it's light romance, but its still cute, oops how do u write connor aha, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryflood/pseuds/cherryflood
Summary: “Hank, please listen to me. While (Y/N) showered, I gathered as much information I could on her illness, and we must handle the situation delicately.”“Yeah, and? What, this pasta isn’t delicate enough for you?”You've reacquainted with old eating disorder habits but your secrecy comes to an end when Connor and Hank become too suspicious.





	1. Cold Hands Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for eating disorders, anxiety and panic attacks, mentions of depression and suicide
> 
> it's not in my intentions to glorify mental illness and I try not to romanticize anorexia in this work. it's not graphically described and I tried to be blatant over flowery. xoxoxo
> 
> oh also i was like lmao heck proper structure bc i wanted to write the thoughts of everyone at once so im very sorry for not being proper and not abiding by all rules especially for dialogue (mostly out of ignorance)!! i forgive myself by saying its just for fun, which it is :)

It was quiet on the case side of things at the Detroit City Police Department, shockingly enough. There was a warrant that would take a day to approve and a witness that continued to call in useless information, but no crime scenes or interviews were in store for the day. You were exhausted anyways, and seeing as you compulsively ate very little, filled your personal time with exercise and rarely slept enough to feel rested, you had reason to be. Your eyes fought to stay focused as you glanced over an email, faltering only as a pang of hunger gripped your abdomen. You were quick to maintain your composure.

"Will you be joining Lieutenant Anderson and I for lunch, Detective (L/N)?"

You glanced away from your computer screen, adjusted the mug of steaming black coffee between your frigid fingers, and smiled up at Connor. In time he’d relax, but his familiar polite and efficient speech pattern was comforting to you. Though he was barely used to it, deviancy looked good on him; eyebrows raised expectantly, head tilted, and chocolate brown eyes warm with life. His hands remained tucked behind his straight back as he leaned over your desk, tie threatening to swing from where it was stuck behind his navy suit jacket. Black jeans toned down the formal outfit. Your gaze moved back up to his face and, oh no, his brows had dropped, expression becoming concerned as he caught you staring. His LED spun yellow for a moment.

"Detective, are you –"

"Would you two quit starin' at each other? I'm starving and sick of staring at a fuckin' screen," Hank butted in from his own desk, eyes rolling as he shoved his arms into his jacket. He knew asking you to go for lunch was useless anyways; you had stopped accompanying your partners altogether. Hank knew something was up with you, and that feeling had only grown stronger as you continued to find reasons to be busy whenever he was getting anything more than coffee. He made eye contact with Connor and jerked his head towards the exit to let him know he'd be in the car.

"Got my hands full here, sorry Connor, you know how it is." The lie came out smoothly, as it always did. You had many excuses to work with: you've already eaten, it's too cold or wet to go out, you don't feel like spending, you'll go later, you've got a cup of watery broth to sip on. Your exhaustion helped keep your expression relaxed – it was difficult to lie to your friends after all – and as long as it was mostly true you got away with it.

Connor's lips tipped down, feeling no control over the movement as disappointment washed over him. "I see. Please let me know if you need assistance with your electronic and paper work" – he set his hand down on a pile of beige folders – "as I am more than willing to help. Perhaps you might need to take more breaks; feeling refreshed could help you work more quickly. Or you might benefit from taking on less extra tasks..." Connor trailed off. He knew you liked to keep busy but at times he wondered if you should be constantly buried under the mundane filing another officer should've been dealing with. Furthermore, he liked spending time with you, and yet you kept choosing not to be with him and Hank outside of work. Had he upset you? He knew that although you and Hank were close the older man could be insensitive, had he possibly said something? He'd have to ask later.

"Of course, Connor," you replied before he could continue his rambling of suggestions. You freed a cold hand from your mug to place it gently over Connor's, a grateful smile on your face. "Thank you for offering. Don't worry though! All under control," you continued, and you took your hand back to snap a shaky finger gun at the android.

"Alright, good bye Detective." The good bye came out a little forcefully, but Connor wanted to leave your presence quickly to avoid showing the flustered feeling that overwhelmed him. Something always bubbled up inside of him when he was near you, and that feeling increased tenfold with physical contact. He shook the odd feeling of his Thirium rushing to his cheeks off as he strode out of the precinct and headed in the quickest direction to reach Hank's car, opting to slide right into the passenger seat instead of tapping the window to warn Hank he had arrived first. It was no surprise that he startled the lieutenant, but Connor was too deep in thought.

"Jesus, kid! You're gonna give me a damn heart attack. What happened to warning me, huh?" was the sputtered reaction from Hank as he started the car. Heavy metal immediately blasted from its old speakers, but he spun the dial to quiet the racket and continued. "You took your sweet time, kid, finally get lucky?" He snickered, though his teasing fell on deaf ears.

"(Y/N) was freezing." Hank didn't speak, but Connor could tell his confused and distressed tone had caught his attention. "I adjust my own temperature accordingly, but the station was at optimal temperature, if not a little warm, and you complained this morning of the heat which was evident by your increased perspiration. The coffee she held was hot enough to burn, yet her fingers barely responded to the thermal conduction."

Hank pursed his lips, eyes on the road. He opened his mouth to grunt a reply after a moment of thought, but Connor spoke again.

"She was so cold, Hank," the android murmured, eyes trained on the streets that passed by his passenger window. "It was… Odd. I feel concerned." He spun the conversation onto Hank suddenly, satisfied he'd vocalized your cold extremities and ready to tackle the next topic. "Have you done something to upset (Y/N)?"

Hank was immediately annoyed. "Seriously, kid? You seriously askin' me that?" He glanced at Connor as he brought his car to a shuddering stop at the side of the road. The brunet just waited patiently, expression expectant and attention glued to Hank. "Fuck no, you dumb computer!"

"Sorry Hank, I just thought I might ask," Connor relented calmly, not wanting to upset the lieutenant any more as he followed his angry exit from the car. He hadn't assumed that his partner had hurt you but he preferred to rule everything out. Hank stepped up to the food truck and Connor branched off to wait at their usual table.

Humans confused Connor easily. They were complicated beings with incredibly varying degrees of emotion and often very little method to their madness. He was grateful to continue working with the DPD because at least the people he worked alongside were required to respond logically instead of emotionally – for the most part – and business was systematic and disciplined. He fit the job description, and with his deviancy, he could now fit in even more.

Connor listened to Hank place a bet on something or other, and then brought his focus back to you. It was puzzling; he saw you every day and worked directly with you on cases and only sat a desk away, but he had a feeling of missing you. Gone were evenings at Hank's dinner table, hangover brunches and grabbing lunch. He considered how social meals were and that lacking that relaxed, social time with you was disappointing. Besides, you hadn't always turned down excursions for human fuel. In fact, you hadn't always been so tired, distant and physically cold. He huffed, thinking finally to himself that if you were "growing apart" – something he'd overheard from a divorced mother to her child – he might not ever figure out the feelings you caused in him.

"Son." Hank was loud and sudden, but his tone warm as he dropped a heavy hand onto Connor's shoulder. "Thinking about (Y/N) still, huh? Didn't even notice me here," he chuckled out.

"I don't want to grow apart." That certainly earned Connor an odd look, but he wasn't watching Hank. "I don't want to grow apart as husband and wife do. Divorce is not an option. I hope I haven't upset her."

Hank choked on his drink first. Laughter mixed in as he took in Connor's serious expression. "Divorce?" he wheezed out. Connor had a funny way of expressing his feelings sometimes, and this instance had the lieutenant cracking up. "Christ, I fuckin' love when you don't have the lingo, kid, just makes my day." He grinned and watched the android's mouth quirk up too, then sighed. "Don't worry kid, it's not you, you haven't done anything wrong. Something's up with that kiddo."

"What is up with (Y/N)?" Connor asked, barely letting Hank finish is sentence. He picked up on his superior not only being concerned but knowing more than he was letting on as well. "What do you know?"

Hank held his tongue for moment. He was crass and careless often, but not with someone he cared about. He thought back to a case he and you had been assigned, before Connor's arrival, in which you'd known plenty about an over the counter medication and pinpointed its use by the victim, the information proving to be useful for the case.

  
_"Say, Detective (L/N), how'd you know all that about the victim's drug use?" "_

_Easy, Lieutenant; I had tons of the stuff too once upon a time." _

_The lieutenant cocked his head, looking curious, feeling the odd urge to learn about your past now that you had expressed troubles. Silently he watched you, trying to appear open and not just gruff. "_

_Mm-hm; popped that and removed calories from the equation. Weight stopped falling off so I weaned myself off the drugs and held onto the rest of the habits. Ended up in hospital then went to a facility. Recovered so I could have this job. Now I..." You smiled to yourself, thinking about how far you had actually come. "Now I can kick someone's ass if I need to," you finished playfully, a smirk appearing as you raised your fists up. "You trying to fight, old man?"_

Hank scrunched his face up, weighing his options. He knew above everything that he didn't want to hurt you by breaking your trust and sharing something so personal with Connor, even if the android might handle it well, and even if you were all friends. It didn't feel right. It was your story to tell, and as far as he knew it was the sensitive kind. That being said, your current behavior was worrying. He didn't know much about eating disorders but he hadn't seen you around solid food in... He couldn't even remember the last time. You were tired; he saw it in your slow movements, your face and your trips to the coffee maker, but you could still hold your own out on a crime scene. Hank was the wrong person to ask when it came to physical changes – don't expect him to notice a new haircut – but if you didn't dress as you did in strategic layers, he might have been certain of the weight loss that seemed evident in your face.

Knowing Connor respectfully wouldn't hound him for the truth, Hank decided to be vague and spoke up before his partner could question the silence. "I just think something's wrong with (Y/N), that's all kid."

Connor thought about Hank's choice of words. He could tell he was withholding something but he had enough trust to know it must be for a good reason. In all, it meant that concern for the you was valid. "I want to help her. I’m not sure how yet, but you have clearly alluded to there being cause for concern, and (Y/N) being our friend makes me feel driven to be there for her."

Hank only smiled as he swallowed the last bite of his oversized burger, a sense of pride growing in him as he listened to what Connor had to say and how he wanted to treat you. His thoughtful, respectful young man. "You're making quite the deviant, kid. Let's go back; we'll see how (Y/N) is doing in the bullpen."


	2. It's Not Snooping, It's Investigating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> silly cliche incoming for plot

Connor scanned the room as he trailed behind Lieutenant Anderson, but you weren't at your desk at the moment. A glance told him that you had work open on your computer, you had your coffee mug with you wherever you were and you were chewing a piece of spearmint gum, the latter being based off a stick's wrapper at the top of your small trash can.

Hank took a heavy seat at his own desk and you still hadn't returned, so Connor wondered if he should poke around your belongings a little longer. You were his newest case after all. He spied a scarf draped over your chair, a photo of you, Hank and Connor, and a Red Ice case file that matched what was running on your computer monitor. He peeked into a drawer at wool gloves and the sugar free hard candy he sometimes noticed on your breath, and saw a few receipts in your trash can, but purchases of gum, reduced sodium soup, painkillers, coffee and diet soda were of no use to him.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the break room. He heard something splash and clatter to the floor along with your familiar yelp and was quick to head over.

"For fuck's sake, (Y/N)!" Detective Reed looked furious as he shook droplets of coffee off the end of his left sleeve. You shrunk back from him, feeling threatened by his tone of voice because of the mess you had caused during the collision. He seemed to notice this and let his shoulders relax a tad. "You've got to pay more attention, spacey dumbass," he continued, softer but still very annoyed.

"I'm so sorry Detecti – Gavin." You were acquaintances after all, but stress had you tripping over your words. "I didn't mean to I swear, I can take care of this." Gavin had gotten off easy; an entire arm of your thick sweater was drenched, and the heat was painful. You saw Officer Miller waving Gavin over from his desk.

The detective sighed heavily as he noticed Chris, letting your mug – which was surprisingly in one piece - clink into the sink. "Yeah, I've gotta go. Someone else will help you," he told you dryly, seeing as picking your cup up was all he had the time for. He spun around before exiting the break room and shook a finger at you. "If I see a single burn on your body I'll be seeing that coffee maker in court," he joked and then turned back to leave. He bumped shoulders with Connor on his way out and glared obviously, but it was all he had time for.

"I didn't know Detective Reed was capable of making a joke of that sort," the android wondered aloud as he paced past you towards the paper towel dispenser.

"Yeah, he probably just felt bad for yelling at me, it was an accident after all," you suggested, and he hummed ambiguously while setting paper towel on the floor over the cooling coffee. "He can be a good person sometimes, I think." You felt like you needed to explain your friendship with the man who was so hateful towards Connor as an android, but your partner didn't seem phased and didn't have a reply.

Clean up was swift and you began to thank Connor for his help as you washed your mug in the sink, but he was quick to cut you off. "You are my friend, (Y/N), I will gladly assist you. You should remove your sweater to avoid dripping coffee everywhere and potentially damaging your electronic equipment. Will you be needing any more of my help?"

You were crouching down to a cupboard, preparing to turn the coffee maker on again, and you smiled up at the considerate deviant as you plucked a filter from its packaging. "No, I'm alright Connor, but thank you, I'll have to make it up to you sometime," you told him sweetly, grin blossoming as his own features lit up. You watched him nod his head in acknowledgement before he left to return to his desk and the lieutenant.

"Half the day," you mumbled to yourself. "Half the day is already over."

* * *

It wasn't long before you were taking your seat at your desk once again, minus your thick sweater and the long sleeve top you had been wearing underneath. You had to lose the scarf you had on to a hook in the locker room too, as its dampness would've kept you cold otherwise. You pulled the scarf that had been over your chair down and settled it around your neck and over your thin windbreaker, the only other piece of outerwear you had at the moment. Sipping the fresh coffee you had poured in your mug, you tried to focus on your computer screen but it was unavoidable: you were cold. Tingling fingers, full body shivers and chattering teeth cold.

The next shiver that shuddered violently through your body was noticed by Hank. You had your feet on your seat, knees to your chest and you were covered in goosebumps. "Hey, kiddo!" Hank called, successfully getting your attention and also Connor's. "You being possessed or something?"

Your expression of shame didn't go unnoticed by your partners before you looked down and pretended to examine your shoes. "No, of course not!" you forced out, a nervous chuckle acting as you finding Hank comedic. "It's just cold in here today, and I'm a little damp and have lost my warm armor, you know?" You gave the boys a smile; they had no need to worry about you, especially as the work day would be over soon.

"No, I don't know actually. It ain't cold in here that's for sure." Hank had a look that could only mean he was suspicious of you. You shrunk back into your chair, worry painted on your tired face. Hank opened his mouth to continue but shut it upon seeing Connor striding over to your desk.

Deft fingers and fluid motion had Connor's suit jacket off his body and around your shoulders before you could even refuse him. "I manually increased the temperature of my system in order to heat my clothing through conduction. It will not hold heat for an extended period of time but I hope it helps you increase your body temperature," he said straightforwardly. He had a small, hesitant smile on his lips and a hopeful expression in his eyes as he looked at you, tiny in his coat, waiting for you surprise to subside.

"Oh, thank you Connor," you stuttered out. The act of kindness was enough to fluster you, but you were terribly distracted by how truthful he had been. His jacket was comfortably warm, and you pulled it tightly around your body, sighing as the collar nudged your scarf up and came in contact with your neck. You knew you needed to start working immediately if you wanted to keep from falling asleep in such comfort.

"Of course, Detective (L/N), it's no problem at all." And he turned around and walked back to his desk, instantly immersing himself in a task.

* * *

Though Hank's music blared loudly during the drive back to his home after a run for necessities at the store, Connor did not struggle to have an introspective moment. He was still working on listening and reacting to music anyways, so he did the bare minimum and nodded his head to the beat as he thought of what he had seen as him and Hank were preparing to leave.

It was of you, of course. Connor liked to watch people when he had the time for it; to quietly appreciate them being as human as they were under the guise that no one was staring. He'd recently started devoting all that time to you: he liked picking up on your little habits as you tapped your fingers, chewed your lip and shook your leg until the end of your shift. You had noticed your partners packing up before you and so had already returned the android's coat with a bashful smile and a quiet thank you, leaving Connor to study you for the last of his time waiting for Hank.

Hank had picked up his keys and was in the midst of grumbling about something to Connor when it happened, when he watched you stand only to sway and almost stumble had your desk not been there to hold you up. Your eyes widened, you breathed in through your mouth sharply and then slowly raised your head. Multiple things occurred at once again; Connor went to move in your direction, Hank barked something about being ignored, and Detective Reed slid to a stop at your desk for mundane chatter. You had put on a smile and appeared relaxed as you replied to Gavin; Connor didn't feel he should interrupt your conversation. Then, he had let an irritated Hank nudge him harshly towards the exit.

"What's on your mind, kid?" came Hank's rough voice as he shut off the engine. He set his forearm against the steering wheel and angled his body towards his quiet passenger.

"Something might be physically wrong with (Y/N)," Connor began hesitantly. He didn't want to be accused of overreacting or watching you too closely. "She seemed to have a difficult time standing from her chair as though she was faint and weak. I felt strong worry for her as she caught her balance against her desk, but" – he grimaced harshly – "Detective Reed showed up and began a conversation."

Hank sighed heavily; of course you'd be lightheaded if you weren't eating properly. "Maybe..." He paused, weighing his options. "Maybe you could, uh, talk to her?" He watched Connor tilt his head, mulling over the idea. "I mean I don't know, kid! All this talk has me thinkin' more and wondering if she's doin' alright. I sure as hell wouldn't know what to say to her! Besides, I'm not even the weird one watching her all the damn time!"

Connor just waved his exasperated friend off and held his hand out. "I will go see (Y/N)." His hand remained empty. "Keep your cellphone on and we can stay in touch while I'm with her. Maybe she really does need our help, Hank." The clinking on his synthetic palm told him that he had Hank's blessing, and he scooted into the driver's seat once Hank was out.

"Talk to me, kid." Hank frowned. "I'll turn on that thing you showed me, where you talk into the phone or whatever, so I can shoot back fast." Tech talk wasn't really the lieutenants strong suit, but he knew Connor understood so he gave the boy's shoulder a good pat and shut the car door. "For an android connected to the fuckin' internet, he sure seems slow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> creative liberty surrounding the unknown aspects and abilities of fictional inventions can make twelve year olds writing smut imagine the weirdest things, amirite?


	3. Breaking and Entering and Exiting

"(Y/N)?" Connor yelled, hoping his voice would make it through the walls of your portion of a one story duplex. You weren't coming to the door or answering your phone and looking through your windows had revealed nothing. The crux of his deviancy surged through him as his call went to your voicemail again: fear. Connor's memory of finding Hank passed out in his home, gun nearby and his body readying itself to choke on its own vomit drove fear through his figurative heart as he wondered about what – the tightness in his chest halted. Was that your phone on your coffee table? He rang you once more and watched the device buzz in your living room as heavy dread crept over him. Luckily, for both of you, you'd left a living room window unlocked for Connor to tumble unceremoniously through.

"(Y/N)?" he called, quick to return to his feet. The empty kitchen and living room meant you had to be in either the bathroom or your bedroom, and both doors had been left open. "It's me, Connor. You left a window unlocked and I..." He started wondering if he was being inappropriate; if he'd find you sleeping and be annoyed with him. Though there was no use for his system to, he swallowed thickly, and continued down the hall.

A short inspection of the bathroom proved it was vacant and Connor spun towards your room. He felt anxious dragging his entry on, so he forced his legs to carry him straight through the doorway. His mouth opened and then shut in sudden confusion. It was uninhabited as well. Staring down at the floral duvet on your bed, he gathered his thoughts. You weren't home, you had left your phone behind... Rapid strides brought him into your side of the garage, its emptiness proving you had taken your car.

Connor reentered your home and crossed his arms. He looked around the place, taking note of the fresh trail of barely-there shoe prints on the ground, a space for missing shoes and the coffee table dusty underneath some papers. He smirked to himself; he liked a challenge. That, and he still felt wary of your safety wherever you had gone.

His reconstruction ability allowed him to use the shoe prints and an open bathroom drawer with a pouch of disturbed hair accessories to tell him you had laced up your sneakers – the prints in the empty space gave away the type of shoe – and then gone back to the bathroom to pull your hair back. This wasn't very useful. Your bedroom revealed more though as he took in your discarded work clothes and the jostled laundry in the dresser drawer containing swimwear, sweatpants and athletic wear you had left ajar. The sweatpants had been moved so you could grab something to exercise in.

He now knew you were clothed to work out and had left in your car to do so, he only wondered where. This was explained with a tourism booklet that was unfolded on your coffee table to expose a map of forested trails which he quickly committed to memory. Seeing as there was a bit of a drive to get out there, Connor escaped back through the window he had used to enter and quickly returned to Hank's car. Pride in completing his challenge to figure out where you were numbed all notions of whether he should go out to see you and he stepped on the gas, using the drive to calculate where you might be on the trails.

* * *

There was little else odder than the sight of your semi-formally dressed android partner appearing from the mouth of a trail adjacent to the one you were running on. The bright white of his button down contrasted with the greens and browns of the flora that surrounded you and his dress shoes and tie went immensely against appropriate attire for the location. You would've laughed had his sudden appearance not startled you so much.

"Hello, (Y/N), I hope you don't mind some company." Connor felt smugness flit over his features; he was satisfied with succeeding in his mission to find you. He joined you as you caught your breath, hands propped on your thighs while the shock that had exploded in your chest settled down. "It's nice out here. Quiet. I can see why you make the drive."

You looked up at him as you straightened, and with a wave of your arm for him to follow, you resumed your jog. "Yeah, yeah it is nice; no people; no city noises. No concrete to destroy my knees," you agreed in a breathy voice. It was work to breathe steadily and speak at the same time. "But, Connor, what on earth are you doing out here?"

Connor matched your pace easily, the long, consistent strides his height allowed making it no chore to walk quickly beside you. "Forgive me for entering your home," he started hesitantly, registering the shame in his intrusive actions as he voiced them out loud. "But it worried me when you weren't coming to the door or answering your phone, and I could only think of when Hank..." He cut himself off; there was no need to be emotional. "You left enough information behind for me to figure out where you had gone, so I’m here now." He watched you eye him warily. "Truthfully, I got carried away, but I'm glad to be in your company now and relieved that you are okay."

Your flushed cheeks hid it but you blushed, finding his concern sweet and his friendly comments loving. Connor had never been unkind to you and was always making efforts to ask how you were and show that he cared. You didn't have much to show for friends so you were grateful. "Of course I'm okay, Connor. Why wouldn't I be?"

Your rhetoric question stirred up Connor's thoughts of worry for you based on the day's events but he shoved them down and replied with his own question. "How long have you been out here?" He wondered this because your exhaustion was evident. He saw it in the way your knees buckled on heavier downhill steps, in the rolling of your ankles you had to catch occasionally and of course your labored breathing.

"Only an hour and half," you told him after checking your watch. "I'll be another hour at least, you don't have to stay." You were tired, but exercise wasn't optional. You let the calorie math portion of your brain take over while chatting paused.

Connor used the lull to internally draft a message for Hank to catch him up to speed.

  
_RoboKop800: I've located (Y/N) on the trails of a nature preserve. She has been here running for one hour and a half._

_Hank Anderson: Way out there? She good?_

_RoboKop800: Exhaustion is pronounced though she plans to continue her physical activity for at least one hour more._

_Hank Anderson: She ain't good._

  
"Is your exercise always this vigorous, (Y/N)?" he asked. He tried to sound light and as if he was making casual conversation but your athletic habits seemed excessive to him too.

You felt embarrassment then; your average pace not deserving to be called vigorous. Legs screaming, you upped your speed a little, knowing your body could certainly handle being pushed. Then, you considered what might be the right answer to his question. Would he find it only aggressive fitness, or would your unhealthy habits be exposed? Had he already figured out what you were doing to yourself? "This isn't vigorous, don't worry. I... Think it's important for a detective to be fit for chasing suspects, you know?"

Connor frowned. "Given your distance, speed and time spent in activity, this is in fact vigorous, and while I agree that officers should be capable of giving chase, you already are, and are perhaps being too difficult on yourself."

You didn't answer. You couldn't answer; he was right. Not wanting to make excuses or seem suspicious you simply continued on the path, eyes down for roots and rocks. You were unbelievably tired. Even the moment your eyes closed to blink was welcoming. It seemed your astounding lack of proper sleep and edible energy mixing with the overexertion you never failed to cause was finally catching up with you. It didn't matter though, it always felt like you were running your last run. Your body hadn't given up yet, and you were certain it still wouldn't.

Mirroring your silence, Connor decided to use your nearness to him to observe you more closely. His gaze lingered on your face as he scanned you and your beauty struck him even as sweat shone on your skin and a determined expression controlled your features. Dark circles under your eyes could barely take away their shine and the swoop of your delicate eyelashes, and your lips looked soft. Imagery of Connor's thumb swiping across your bottom lip flashed in the android's mind and he forcefully dragged his attention back to the present. He noticed light, downy hair on your cheeks and down your neck. Its presence perplexed him.

"You have a striking case of lanugo, (Y/N)." His tone was factual and steady as he puzzled over the abnormality. "Thin, soft and unpigmented hair sometimes found on the body of a fetus or a newborn. Your body must be trying to insulate itself."

Fear rocketed through you. You couldn't get caught, you just couldn't. You ceased running suddenly and spun towards Connor, a strong but unrecognizable expression on your weary face. You opened your mouth to say something – anything – but the world was oddly tilting and blackness consumed you before you could even meet the ground. As soon as you were horizontal things were set back in motion and it was only a minute before your eyes could pry open again.

"Whoa, what?" you mumbled, speech slurred. Your brain was racing to keep up with your mouth as you regained consciousness. You felt a large hand behind your head and found Connor's distressed face leaning over you.

"(Y/N)." His voice was heavy and low and had you already dreading what he might say next. "Are you alright? You fainted.” Uncertainty flicked over his features. “You… You scared me."

Guilty, you dragged your gaze away from Connor. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as a fuzzy reaction to his piercing sincerity and the way he dirtied his pants to cradle your head so tenderly. However, you were losing the battle against your own exhaustion, which threatened to drag your eyes shut and render you limp and heavy. "I might..." You blinked slowly, eyelids like lead. "I might have to sleep." Succumbing to the overwhelming enervation, you slipped into slumber. For the first time in a long time, you didn't have any adrenaline to rely on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if we kissed... while writing alpha/omega wincest fics? haha jk... unless??


	4. Exploring Human Terrain

Hank’s shock could not be hidden from his face when the sight of Connor gliding smoothly through his front door - you securely in his arms - pulled his gaze away from the television. The android’s stony expression had him instantly assuming the worst. “Is she?” he asked, the unspoken end of his question hanging in the air. He stood from the couch, prompting Sumo to lift his head at the commotion and eye the scene sleepily.

Emotion began to leak into Connor’s eyes once he’d leaned back against the front door. Tipping his head back in order to keep the liquid that threatened to spill from his eyes inside him, he sighed heavily. “I feel such fear for her, Hank.” His voice, pitiful and crackly, continued to explain, “She's only sleeping, but prior to that she” – his voice seemed to catch in his throat – “she fell unconscious on a trail. If I hadn’t been there, Hank, I –"

“But you were son, and that’s what matters. C’mon, get Sleeping Beauty there on the couch,” the older man interrupted, jerking his thumb at where he’d been seated. He was quick to intercept the panic that crept into Connor’s voice when a fatherly instinct to soothe kicked in. “What happened out there? I don’t blame ya kid but you should’ve dropped me a line, I’ve been brickin’ it here left in the dark.”

Connor was hesitant to lay you down. From his grasp he could feel your breath, monitor your heart rate and temperature, and scan your vitals. Holding you he knew for certain that you were alive and that your body was functioning and it was difficult to let that go; simply being apart from you felt like a risk. Thankfully his rational thinking could quell his concerns and he was able to set you down. “I considered all options on the drive here. Either (Y/N) has an unnamed rare disease, or she has anorexia.”

Hank fell into his armchair and emitted a noise of agreement. “That’s what I was afraid of, kid. You’re a walking, talking computer and would know best, but I had my suspicions.” He paused to let out a haggard sigh. “If she’s too deep in it you know she can’t keep working, this kind of shit is a liability. The little punk knows it too what with all the hiding. Christ, why the fuck didn’t I say something sooner?” Connor moved to reassure Hank but the man plowed on aggressively, anger masking the worry and guilt that gripped him. “Why didn’t you notice, Connor? You can pick out every tiny fucking detail at a crime scene but can’t notice your sick goddamn partner?” He gestured wildly to your small form. The blame was easing his guilt, but it was superficial. “Not so state of the art now huh, you useless hunk of fuckin’ plastic!”

“Dehydration could mean nothing and anything, Hank!” Connor shouted in defense. Every word hit him hard. His head bowed; his shaking shoulders drew in. An artificial tear slipped down his cheek as he calmed down from his outburst. “She was always so strong and capable,” he murmured, voice cracking. The sound fueled Hank’s regret as the trembling android continued. “Nothing could touch her, Hank. She worked above and beyond expectations, she took successful risks, and she did everything independently. And I took it all for granted and just assumed she was well. What was I supposed to do with scans only showing dehydration? I didn’t care enough, Hank, and now look at her.”

It was still different seeing Connor appear so human. His grief was pure; tears dripped from his chin and his speech lacked its usual rigidness. Finding it too hard to watch him suffer and cry, especially because of his own words, Hank shuffled closer to place his arms around the man he considered a son. Words came slowly as he patted the deviant’s back. “Kid... She… She hid it well. We’re both shitty friends. But you didn’t cause this, you hear me son? That shitty illness in her brain did.” It was the best he could do. Hank stepped back for personal space as Connor pulled himself together.

“You’re right, Hank. I’m sorry for becoming so emotional, I realize it doesn’t help much.” He smiled softly, eyes sad but dry.

Hank shrugged in acceptance of the android. “Part of the package.”

Comfortable silence ensued. Hank returned to his arm chair; Sumo remained in doggy dream land in front of the heater. Quiet audio from the television continued as it had been the entire time. Connor crouched down at the couch, simply wanting to assure himself that you weren’t in any immediate danger as you slept. Then, you began to stir.

* * *

Connor’s face was the first thing you saw upon opening your heavy eyelids. You considered it a shame that his handsome features were contorted in trepidation and let your lips draw into a small smile for him, one hand rubbing at your eye. Your tired gaze swept to beyond the stressed brunet. This wasn’t your home. Everything suddenly came back to you at once and you moved with great speed to distance yourself from Connor and sit up. Pressed firmly against the back of the couch, your wide eyes found you were in the presence of both your partners and inside their house. You also became aware of your griminess from both sweating earlier and your fall on the trail. Anxiety bloomed in your chest and crept of your throat. Did they know? What did they think of you? Would they say anything? Would you be able to continue your disordered habits?

Hank’s gravelly voice spoke first. “(Y/N),” he started, making an effort to sound nonintimidating, but he was interrupted by you.

“I need to shower!” you almost yelled in panic, wanting anything other than the current situation. “I… I need to shower. Please. Just let me shower, please Hank, Connor. Please.” Though your pitiful behavior showing through your meek, pleading tone didn’t suit your request, you couldn’t help it. You were drowning in anxiety; heart racing, palms sweating, breathing quickening. You couldn’t face your friends, not yet anyways.

Squinting at you, Hank considered your obvious avoidance of the situation. “Fine,” he eventually settled on, much to your relief. “But you’re having Connor with you while you’re in there. I won’t have you conking out again and cracking your damn head open on the tub. And I’m makin' you some fuckin' food, (Y/N).” Hank sure as hell didn’t know if that was the right thing to say but it seemed his concern could only come out in anger. Huffing and without another glance, he rose to his feet and trudged into the kitchen.

Your stomach plummeted like a stone in a pond when “food” hit your ears; you couldn’t, you just couldn’t. Not wanting to start anything yet, you reluctantly held your tongue and went to stand from the couch. A certain brunet blocked your way however and you were forced to stay seated. Connor’s sad puppy dog eyes stared into yours and you looked down at your lap sheepishly. You felt something on your shoe.

“Let me, (Y/N),” Connor offered softly as he tugged at the shoelaces of your running shoes. Neither of you spoke again until your shoes were by the front door and you were both at the entrance to the bathroom. After glancing at Hank’s bedroom, Connor looked you up and down. “Hank’s wardrobe contains a few shirts that are much larger than the size he wears. Would you feel comfortable in” – amusement lit up his eyes in the slightest – “a dress?”

Snorting lightly at your goofy partner, you motioned your hands in a way that told him you didn’t care. When he walked off, you entered the bathroom and shut the door to find yourself immediately tormented by your reflection in the mirror. Disregarding the signs of fatigue in your face and your slightly pale skin, you stared down what you considered to be imperfections. In your eyes your nose was too big, your hair worked against you and you carried weight you had yet to lose. A disappointed sigh left your lips as you turned away from the sink; there was no way you’d ever achieve the physical beauty you craved.

Shorts and socks off, you gripped the hem of your top to drag it up your body and over your head and – something scraped lightly against your back. Then, the removal of your shirt stopped completely. You yanked gently, not understanding how it was stuck. You swayed and grumbled under your breath when the unmistakable creak of Hank’s bathroom door suddenly sounded. You could even feel the cool draft of air that swept in from the hallway against your exposed body.

“I’ve brought Hank’s largest shirt for you.”

“Connor!” you hissed, rattled expression hidden behind your upturned shirt, “Knocking exists for a reason!”

Realizing the depth of the situation, Connor blinked; forgetting proper human conduct was still a flaw he worked on regularly. Shamefully, the android averted his gaze from your underwear clad form. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, this was rude of me, I’ll leave this –"

Your pitiful whimper cut him off. “Please help me.”

With Hank’s shirt to the side and the bathroom door shut, Connor approached you as you stood pathetically with your arms over your head and your shirt pulled up your body. He tugged down a bit of the fabric so he could see your face and deliver a melancholic smile, LED spinning and blinking ceaselessly yellow. “You forgot to remove the tag, (Y/N). It’s caught on one of the decorative straps of your sports bra,” the android explained, light voice tinged with emotion he couldn’t subdue. Like this, you were exposed. Like this, he could see how your body truly looked when it wasn’t hidden under loose, layered clothing.

“Did I? Great. Free a fool, would you?” Triggered by an unidentifiable tone in his voice, the air in the bathroom felt thick. The pity for you that radiated off Connor was uncomfortable as you felt undeserving of such compassion. Your body flinched suddenly. Had he just touched your side, and not for the tag? Feather light touch returned to your skin and you stilled to hesitantly let him fulfill his curiosity. Maybe it was an exploring humans thing?

It was and it wasn’t. Connor dragged a finger over the crests and troughs of your ribs that were beginning to show. Bump, bump, bump. Their slight protrusion told him his worry for you was even more appropriate. He settled a digit against an equally worrying ridge of your spine and let it brush gently down the uneven skin of your back as he took in your appearance slowly. He noticed your defined hipbones and wasn’t surprised to see light bruising; the exposed bone probably took most of any damage bumping into something. He saw how your collarbone stuck out of your shoulders and the light shadows caused by the definition of your sternum. As if nothing had happened, Connor freed the tag from its confinement and tugged up on the shirt to communicate that you could remove it finally.

Now off, you scrunched your shirt in your hands awkwardly, wondering what had just happened. “Thanks, Connor. Uh, you can stay; I’ll just hop in the tub and strip behind the curtain. Just go when I turn the water off.” You faced him when there was no answer and his active LED caught your eye again. Was he even listening to you?

“Do you not realize how difficult it is to see you like this?”

The question caught you off guard. You chewed on your lip, taking the frown on Connor’s face and the unreadable tone in his voice as anger. The part of your brain that counted calories and insulted your appearance came forth with an excellent point: you were disgusting to look at. You figured, ignorantly, that of course you were difficult to look at; you were the complete opposite of attractive. “I… I’m sorry,” you stuttered out. “I know I’m not pretty, but I’m working on it” – your words grew louder and panicky – “I’m working on it, okay? I’ll be better, I just need lose –"

“No! No stop, (Y/N),” Connor interrupted frantically with a mortified look. He gripped your small shoulders but your watery eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Please, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you think that, I don’t want to hurt you please believe me. It’s hard to choose accurate words and predict how you will understand them sometimes, but I mean you no harm. You are indisputably beautiful and I… Find you pleasing to look at, but” – he paused nervously; correct words were essential – “the underweight appearance of your body means that you are not well and the probability of running into health risks is high. (Y/N), I… I think about your 53% chance of cardiac arrest in your current state and although there is nothing there, it feels as if something is over my chest, crushing me. I can find no physical signs of it but it feels painful to see you are ill and know that you are in danger. I’m sorry that I cannot explain it better.”

Your face softened as you lifted your head to look at Connor properly, and he slowly and experimentally took hold of both your hands. “Oh.” You struggled to react to his words. Guilt swam to the top of your pile of jumbled emotions. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you worry,” you told him, avoiding his captivating eyes by looking at his grasp on your hands. Yours were so small in comparison, nestled against his synthetic skin. “I’m fine really.”

Connor raised his eyebrows in disbelief just as a yell thundered through the walls. “Quit making out and get the water running!”

“He’s right,” you said quietly as you freed your hands and backed away. Missing the warmth of his touch already, you stepped into the bathtub.

“We’ll talk about it later.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: boys and romance won't cure mental illness!!!!11 i will not have inappropriately timed romantic moments!!!1  
also me: but.. cute shit.......


	5. The Delicacy of Spiraled Noodles

Although you were quite comfortable around Hank and Connor, you were grateful for the adequate coverage Hank’s bright red t-shirt provided. You were practically swimming in the massive clothing item; its crew neck was a scoop neck for you. Squeaky clean, you exited the bathroom. Hushed voices, well, Connor’s hushed voice, from the kitchen made you stop to listen in.

“Hank, please listen to me. While (Y/N) showered, I gathered as much information I could on her illness, and we must handle the situation delicately.”

“Yeah, and? What, this pasta isn’t delicate enough for you?”

“What I mean is we aren’t properly qualified to treat her anorexia. She even has yet to choose to recover. So we can’t force her to do anything that may cause discomfort, and that includes eating. If you’ll just let me –"

“Oh yes we fucking will. (Y/N) needs to get something into her! That kiddo fuckin’ passed out on you! She’s not going to get any fuckin’ better if she doesn’t start eating, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to watch her wither away to shit all when I’ve got a kitchen here to do something about it.” 

“She won’t recover by force and you can’t make her eat, Hank. As I’ve read, she will look at your rotini and Italian herb tomato sauce and see only calories, carbohydrates and the potential for weight gain, and she will feel fear, anxiety and general distress.”

“Connor, it’s just fuckin’ food. It’s not that hard to just put it in your mouth and swallow it. (Y/N) is a big girl; she can put up with a healthy fucking plate of fuel after showing us she’s this sick.”

As you listened, you dreaded leaving the safety of the bathroom doorway even more. Even though you were an adult with free will, terror spread through you as images of being force fed flashed through your mind. You knew Hank was only mindlessly ignorant and wasn’t aware how different your thinking was to his, but it was hard to hear him say such threatening things about you. Then, Connor revealed something that changed things.

“A news article from the twenty-eighth of December in 2027 described two parents who refused to allow their son access to proper care for his anorexia nervosa. They thought his mental illness reflected poorly on the family name and kept it secret; going to great lengths to force him to consume their meals while his mental health deteriorated. The son committed suicide and made a comment in his suicide note about being forced to eat. Cause of death was asphyxiation by belt in his closet after Christmas dinner.”

The kitchen was quiet for a minute as Connor’s source of stress impacted Hank. You were shocked by the article choice; the son’s story had been a hot topic while you were at an inpatient facility long ago. The memory of you and two other girls agreeing that you would have killed yourselves too came out of the recesses of your mind. Hank’s heavy sigh brought you back out of your reverie.

“Okay kid, I’m gettin’ why you’re all uptight.”

“May I place my pot on the stovetop now?”

“Yeah, whatever. What makes your cooking so special?”

“I’ll prepare a packaged soup. Luckily, one of her regular purchases is common enough for you to have it in the back of your cabinet, though I’m certain your choice of the reduced sodium version was hardly on purpose.”

“You shouldn’t tease me in the same sentence as admitting to snooping at (Y/N)’s desk, smart ass.”

You chose this moment to step into the kitchen cautiously. “Um, thanks for letting me use your shower, Hank. And your shirt. It’s quite fashionable, don’t you think?” You hoped lightly joking would soften the tense mood. “A dress straight from the runway for sure.”

It was Hank’s turn to notice the difficulty in observing your body. The way his t-shirt was so large in contrast to your arms and legs made your small size suddenly very obvious to the grey-haired man. “Yeah (Y/N), you’re a real model in that junk,” he finally commented. He hid his concern by emptying the last of his bottle of beer. “Can you believe some asswipe really thought I looked that size? Talk about a blow to my confidence.”

You snickered, grateful things still felt normal given the circumstance. You watched Connor for a moment, just letting your tired gaze follow every smooth movement the deviant made as he fixed you something to eat.

“(Y/N), you can take a seat at the table,” Connor spoke up suddenly. “I’ve fixed a serving of a soup you are familiar with. If you need to, you may add water to the broth if it makes it easier for you to consume it.” He glanced over to you as you sat at the table beside Hank, who was already going to town on his pasta, a fresh beer next to his plate. The grateful and relieved smile you shared with him gave his insides such a warm, fuzzy feeling that he reflexively ran a diagnostic. There were no issues or malfunctions, of course. There rarely were during new deviancy-related experiences. “Would you like a glass of water? I could put the kettle on for tea as well as it’s late for caffeine.”

Bravely, you expressed your thoughts on the soup. “It’s okay, I don’t need to water it down. It’s a safe food and I feel like garbage anyways and could use the fuel.” In the comfort of your two closest friends, you could handle the meal that was being offered. “And I’ll take that water if you don’t mind, I don’t want to trouble you anymore. Either of you, in fact.”

Just as Connor gave you a playful look and flipped on the kettle, Hank protested your thoughts of being a burden too. “Oh c’mon kiddo, you know you’re always welcome here for as long as you want. You’re not bothering us, dummy, you’re keepin' us company. Sumo likes you around anyways.” As if in agreement, the hefty dog wandered over to lounge next to your chair.

The silence that ensued was agreeable but dense. Hank ate and Connor washed up the kitchenware he had used to prepare your tea and cooling soup. You busied yourself by petting Sumo and appreciated the calming feeling of his soft coat. You tried to decipher what the two men might be thinking, in particular what they might be thinking of _you_, but even as Connor took the seat across from you, nothing seemed to stick out.

He was staring at you; actually he’d been at it for a while, like he was waiting for something. You shifted in your chair, uncomfortable. Peeking at Hank, you saw his plate was almost empty and his fork had been set down. He watched you in a way that was almost identical to the android’s only you were certain the older man's eyebrows rested with a touch of worry. Thoughts of confusion and discomfort raged in your mind: were you supposed to say something? Did they expect an apology? Had you been asked something that you hadn’t heard? You caught a troubled look consume Connor’s features, and when his eyes flicked down you followed suit. “Oh!” He was looking at the golden liquid that rested in the bowl in front of you. The two of them were genuinely waiting for you to eat. You looked into the rising steam, suddenly having second thoughts. “You know it’s hot, right…”

“I’m not really in the mood for any damn excuses!” Had you been looking, the face of warning Connor sent to Hank to halt his speech would’ve made you laugh. The lieutenant cleared his throat, but even though he didn’t continue to express his frustration, he’d triggered guilt in you.

Not wanting to draw things out further anyways, you nudged your bowl closer, blew on a spoonful, then let the familiar flavor pass over your taste buds. With attitude, you raised your eyebrows and made a little motion with your hands to silently express “See?” and get your partners off your back. Hank returned to his dinner with ease, but Connor’s relieved and almost _proud_ expression made you want to crawl under the table and stay there.

His plate empty, Hank was the first to address the elephant in the room. “(Y/N), I know that, uh, skinny is all the rage for chicks, but this” – he waved his hand at you – “this doesn’t look so good.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes; of course your weight was quick to come up first. Your mind pitted two contradicting thoughts against each other: one being that you were fat, not skinny; and the other that there wouldn’t even be such concern if you weren’t thin enough for it. You kept your attention on your meal.

Hank tried again. “We both know I already know you’ve been down this path before, kiddo. There’s no denying what’s happening right now. You really think we’d just let it go how you stopped gettin’ lunch with us? How you stopped stickin’ much in your mouth altogether? You know it's no lie when I tell you that this dork here wouldn’t shut up about missing you.” He gestured to the sheepish looking android.

You only ducked your head down further, hands trembling as your body heated up. You knew this conversation would come but that didn’t make the experience any easier. Thoughtlessly, you gripped your spoon with great force, hoping that the way the metal dug painfully into your skin would distract you from the overwhelming situation.

As he rarely missed a detail, Connor noticed your distress and your small action of self harm. He reached out slowly, as if you were a cornered stray, and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. When nothing changed, he squeezed gently and listened to your utensil clink back into the bowl. “We only want to help, (Y/N). This is alarming.” He looked at how easily he held your wrist, swiped a thumb over the back of your cold hand, and released you.

To substitute the warmth you’d lost from his grip, you settled your hands around your mug of tea and sat back in your chair. Heaving a shaky sigh and ignoring how much you’d rather be at home to cry under your covers, you fished around in your brain for the right words. “Um, well… It’s always been difficult to choose to stay recovered. Stress from work makes all sorts of bad thoughts hit hard but I just, you know, apply what I’ve learned from years of therapy and power through.” You paused to sip from your cup, mouth dry and in need of a short breather. “But then… I was having a particularly hard day, and Gavin kind of made a comment about my weight and” – you sucked in a sharp breath – “it just sort of hit me really hard. I probably would’ve gotten over it, but I stepped onto one of those display scales at the store and things, well, fell apart.”

“You’re tellin’ me that cuntass Reed caused all this?” Hank growled, voice loud enough to hear over the sound of him slamming his hands down on the table in anger.

“No!” you spat quickly. “No, he was making a joke; I was just sensitive about it.” You noticed how even Connor bristled in his seat across from you. “Guys, listen to me: I took it to heart. I guess I even reacted weirdly enough for him to ask if I was alright. He’s um… Not that bad to me. Okay?” With seemingly great difficulty, Hank relaxed. Connor stayed stiff. “Anyways, I don’t know… That part of me I worked so hard to chase away has just been loving being in control again, so I’ve been stuck in the flow of bad habits ever since. And I guess since I’ve been healthy for so long, my body didn’t instantly react to less food by gearing up for starvation and holding onto every ounce of nutrients it could, so the weight just slipped right off. Don’t get me wrong! I know I’m making poor choices and relapsing, but nothing bad has happened yet! Nothing has scared me into fixing things, I’m not sick enough for the hospital or a feeding tube, you know? So like, I’m still totally fine.”

Connor commented first. “You fell unconscious.”

“I mean yeah… But I think I was just tired, and it’s only happened once. I can’t just” – a sharp, nervous chuckle cut in – “not exercise.”

“People don’t go around passing out just because they’re _tired_, (Y/N),” Hank brought up, voice dry and mocking.

“It was far from your vehicle on a trail and you didn’t have your cellphone. What if you had gotten hurt? What if a more severe side effect of malnourishment like heart failure interrupted your exercise with no one around to help you?”

“Connor,” you groaned. You set your tea down to put your head in your hands. “My heart's fine, jeez. I’m not dying, you’re overreacting!”

“No, Connor’s right! What if you fuckin’ hurt yourself out there, huh? Then what?” Hank argued, but Connor spoke over him, and the android’s message had more weight to it.

“But you are dying, aren’t you?” he asked, but his tone held nothing a questioning one would. He knew, and he wanted to show how he saw right through you. “You’ve been through this before, (Y/N); you know exactly what’s going on and what’s going to happen.” Connor paused, eyes trained on your face in case he overstepped with his mild use of interrogation abilities. “You already know that as you continue in this way your symptoms will worsen and you will put your health at risk more than it already is. You may not be in a hospital bed, (Y/N), but you are sick and deserving of recovery and concern. You are hurting yourself and the people who care about you. Why deny yourself of the truth?”

He’d really pinned you. “I… I don’t know. I mean I do, because you’re right; this isn’t new to me, but it’s still hard to feel valid, and to have a real reason to get better. Adrenaline has been quite the useful thing for getting me through investigating.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Hank began. His voice was gentle and giving but held a jeering note at the edges. “You start getting back to normal, and I won’t tell Jeffrey about your little liability.” He stared down your surprised expression, unimpressed. “C’mon kid! You know that your state is bad enough to have some sort of disciplinary shit! You either call that threat your reason to get better, or I start runnin’ my mouth so that you have no choice but to get better. You’ve done it before, and from much worse. I’m not sayin’ you need to rush, just take things slowly, but you can’t keep this shit going.”

Carefully, you gathered your thoughts on Hank’s ultimatum. You’d begun your downhill slide in perfect health, and though you had lost a noticeable amount of weight through restriction and exercise, you hadn’t been practicing disordered behavior for too long. Recovering on your own was certainly possible, and you had all the tools to do so. You weren’t certain what could happen if your condition was made obvious to your superiors, but you knew that the impending deterioration of your health if you didn’t change would affect your work. As much as the sick part of you wanted to be in a hospital bed with a magnesium drip and a meal plan, you loved your job and didn’t want to mess it up. However, you toyed with the idea of continuing to lie and hide your anorexia; to keep losing weight and maintaining an overwhelming sense of self control. You weren’t _that _sick yet, so where was the harm in losing a few more pounds? In potentially finally liking what you see in the mirror? Ambivalent as always on the topic, you decided to be undecided, but appease Hank.

“Well” – you hesitated; you had to be believable – “I really don’t want to mess up my job… And I don’t really think I have another choice, hey? Please don’t say anything, Hank. I think I can try and turn things around. I know that I need to.”

“Sounds good to me, kiddo.” He pointed obviously at your unfinished soup. “And listen, Connor and I have got your back, you hear me? If we know how, we can help with whatever. I just want to see you healthy again,” Hank instructed firmly. He looked at you for a moment, eyes full of warmth and a fatherly concern, and then yawned widely. “That’s my cue. Look at me go, son; bed without any hard liquor.” He snickered while he stood, patting your shoulder before he brought his dishes to the sink. His last words were over his shoulder on his way down the hall. “Couch is here if you need, but I know you’ll want to go home, so Connor can take you. G’night.”

“Night,” you called in reply. Connor seemed caught up in his thoughts so it was quiet while you finished the last of your lukewarm soup. It heated you from the inside out, but you also couldn’t ignore how comfortable it felt to have something in your stomach. You sipped your tea, steeped perfectly thanks to your cook, and continued to ruminate on your ambivalence towards actually recovering. You were spinning the idea of saving making change for after you lost another ten pounds when the android across from you spoke up.

“It puts me at ease to see how you’ve made it through dinner with us,” he began, sincerity clear in his tone. “I hope that it wasn’t too anxiety provoking and that you’ll dine with us again. I like it when you’re around us outside of work.” His mouth quirked into lopsided smile, something you’d always found adorable.

“I like being with you guys too.” You chose your next words carefully. Feelings for your partner had always been present, but you excelled at letting them go to be professional and appropriate with him. “You’re important to me, Connor.”

Somehow, even though your choice of caring words weren’t as weighted as another declaration might’ve been, what you said caused a sense of warmth to spread through Connor. He found his hands coming together without thinking and he rubbed them against each other to ease the flustered way he was feeling. He could feel how his blue blood rushed to his cheeks and was quick to curse Cyberlife for covering all their bases to make him function as a human would, because he was well aware that his synthetic cheeks were tinting pink. As a deviant, it wasn’t something he could control anymore – like a Traci model would’ve to appear to react humanly – and he knew it gave away many of the emotions he was still learning.

Luckily, you seemed preoccupied with the stray tea leaves in the bottom of your cup. He wondered what in your mind was causing the troubled expression in your tired eyes. “Don’t worry; tomorrow we will return to your vehicle so that you can drive it back.” Connor listened to you hum absentmindedly; apparently your car hadn’t been your focus. He mirrored you when you stood from your seat and quickly scooped up your dishes before you could.

“Predicting my moves before I can even do ‘em,” you commented dramatically. While Connor cleaned up, you wandered around the house to gather your belongings and give Sumo a little more love. Then, with a yawn, the two of you left for Hank’s car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe i've stretched a one shot idea out so much but at least I can offer finality in the next chapter. ill warn yall that endings are not my strong point and tend to be weak oops oh well
> 
> never have I been so in love with a choice based game yall????? ran heavy rain only once, beyond two souls twice and life is strange three times but I'm finna roll out into the fictional future detroit world a fifth time here. still missing two character collectibles!! the choice structures of telltale games absolutely pale in comparison


	6. Personal Questions and Panic Attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks, thanks for taking time out of your day to swallow up my wordy paragraphs <3
> 
> not quite done with ed topics so i deadass wrote a fic about reader's ed related cardiac arrest and connor's resuscitation. yeah man, i went there. one dramatic hoe. peep it if youd like xoxo

The drive to your duplex was comfortable. Connor, always the polite one, had opened the car door for you and had fiddled with the heating dials for your chilly body. A radio station for the latest hits played quietly, and you watched the streets of Detroit go by from your passenger seat.

“(Y/N), may I ask you a personal question?”

As you’d been faced with the question before Connor’s deviancy, you knew he meant business and wanted to dig deep. Hesitantly, you hummed to give him the go ahead.

“Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you not like the way you look?” Connor could research your disease as much as he wanted but he still fell back on the idea that humans need food to survive and therefore shouldn’t withhold it. It was essential for them, and so he couldn’t wrap his analytical mind around the concept of essentially torturing oneself willingly. He drew parallels between your struggles and Hank’s lessening suicidal ideation but still found your dislike of your appearance difficult to understand.

You grimaced, hardly surprised at his queries. Your rational self and your disorder argued in your mind. “Okay, so, the long, proper answer is that I have a really upsetting distorted view of my body that I can’t see past – go ahead and read up on body dysmorphia – and the rituals, habits and sense of control I have satisfy that, um, anorexic voice in my head, which eases anxiety and depression. Which get worse through the disorder. It’s a mess up there.” You tapped at your head and laughed nervously. The android next to you didn’t seem as amused. “Anyways… The short answer is a lot easier: I’m fat, and I need to fix that to finally be happy. And to be attractive and desirable. And to fit in, and to be successful, and so that when the people staring at me in the grocery store who aren’t staring because it’s only me being anxious look at me they won’t be disgusted. And because while I’m completely useless and a waste of oxygen, at least I’ll be skinny,” you rambled on, words spilling out so quickly you needed to catch your breath. Panting softly, you brought your fingers over your lips. You’d said too much and hoped the physical movement would keep your tongue still. You noticed the car was off; you had rattled on for the last of the drive.

Negative thoughts spun around and around your head, any free space filling with your ambivalence towards recovery and your plans to be more secretive in your weight loss. You chanced a look at the android and his flashing yellow LED and let out a shaky scoff. Pity and, dare you say, horror were expressed almost violently on his perfectly imperfect face and you couldn’t stand it. You felt that no one should feel bad for you, not when you brought such harm upon yourself by your own hands. Your eyes watered against your will in shame as you dragged yourself out of the car and away from Connor’s intense sympathy for your pathetic state.

Your awareness seemed to fade in and out because suddenly you were at your front door and out of your stupor long enough pick out your key from the lanyard around your neck. Your surroundings blurred and you reached up to your chest because it was so tight you couldn’t breathe, in fact short gasps were all you could manage as you tried to catch your breath. But anxiety clung to you as you trembled and sweat and cried, all in a very short amount of time.

When Connor reached you – he’d been behind because you had forgotten your clothing in the car – your shaking hand held your key, poised to unlock your door but frozen in the action. Alarmed, he let a scan determine the issue: raised temperature, sinus tachycardia, hyperventilation, tremor. Instantly, he began absorbing materials online about panic attacks.

“(Y/N), you’re having a panic attack,” he said calmly to the unresponsive, shaking mess that you were. He reached out slowly for your lanyard and you flinched harshly away. Regardless, Connor had predicted your fear and matched your movement to claim your keys; it was important that he introduced you to a comfortable environment. Quick as a wink, the door was sliding open, just in time to see you needed his attention.

You swayed threateningly where you stood, head racked with dizziness. At the edges of your terror-throttled perception you felt your hand being tugged up, and then your arm was around Connor’s broad shoulders and his was behind your back, cool fingers on your waist as he shuffled you inside. You leaned almost lifelessly against the android and could only pant and paw at your chest like it would ease the pain. A split second of clarity came when you fell against your couch: this had happened before. You chased after the thought and earned another telling you that you needed to calm down and that you had the ability to. That the feeling would pass.

Connor was certain the severity of your panic attack had reduced, but that didn’t minimize how it hurt to see you in such a state of distress. Dropping your clothing on your coffee table at the couch, he grabbed a glass of water for you as he collected tip after tip online for caring for you. He theorized you might be the type to benefit from physical contact as he had gladly let you hug him after a particularly gruesome crime scene, but it stressed him that he could make the wrong choice and upset you further. He perched himself on the edge of the couch cushion and angled his body towards you. “Can I touch you, (Y/N)?” He took the desperate pull on his sleeve as a yes.

Senselessly, you tossed yourself closer than the android’s initial offer of an arm loosely over your shoulders. You were scared and drained, but you felt the squeezing in your chest fade and your head slowed in its spinning. You let Connor be an anchor as his hand stroking your hair and his gentle rocking grounded you. Soothing, albeit appropriately stiff as usual, phrases of breathing slowly and that you’d be okay coaxed you into calmness. Even when your anxiety had become comfortable and you only breathed shakily, Connor let you rest against his warmth; head tucked under his chin and held snug. You felt him shift forward but still keep you close as he leaned.

“Are you feeling alright now? Drink this,” he instructed as he returned to resting against the couch. He pressed the cup into your hands.

“Much better.” You did as you were told and let the cold water bring life back to your dry mouth. “I… I haven’t had one of those in years. Shit, that sucked.” You chuckled wryly but couldn’t deny yourself how awful the episode had been and how fearful you were. How panic attacks were the last thing you wanted to have to face again. How you could avoid them by returning to recovery. You pushed yourself off of the deviant’s chest and his arms relaxed their grip so you could have space.

Connor thought back to the conversation in the car. He knew his prying had a hand in affecting you, but he still wondered what he would have said had you not left the vehicle. Though your stress had lowered significantly, he still planned to tread carefully.

“Hey,” you murmured. Your voice brought the android back from wherever his mind had gone. “Thank you for helping me and being so nice, I mean, I know you probably just gathered a bunch of online information and let it tell you to hold me and calm me down if I responded to that but, you know, it was still nice.” The android’s expression was unreadable, his brown-eyed gaze putting you on the spot. “To finish my useless blathering, thank you for making me feel safe, even if it was uncomfortable for you.”

Connor frowned, puzzled by your assumptions. You were thankful, that was clear to him, and yet seemed to have the idea of being a bother he felt obliged to deal with. That was far from the truth. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention give you that impression,” he started. He didn’t want to imagine you being distant and feeling unappreciated. “Yes, most of the care came from other sources, but some was… Instinctual.” He paused, a tiny embarrassed smile on his lips. “Being human, I’m sure you’ll understand. Sometimes I say and do things… Without my consent, I suppose? It happens before I can process it especially when I am feeling a lot.” He shook his head slightly. It was relieving to talk about something that troubled him but it wasn’t what he truly wanted to tell you. “I’m not operating under program or obligation, (Y/N). I care about you and I have this strong urge to protect you and be near you. I want to help you and I don’t like seeing you upset.”

As always, it was hard to hear such earnest and affectionate words. It was hard to believe someone’s kindness when you thought so lowly of yourself. Nonetheless, the compassion from Connor was flattering and triggered that warm, fuzzy feeling. “Okay,” you conceded, avoiding eye contact by setting your water near your clothing. Little else came to mind; you were tired and a little tongue tied as you were being treated so tenderly by your handsome partner.

“I’ve also been thinking about our conversation in the car,” Connor began carefully, eyeing your face. He saw through your attempt at a neutral expression and picked up on the nudge of your brows and the tension on your mouth. Thoughtfully, the android considered a few options to broach the subject successfully. He decided to take a chance on the moderate probability that you would find comfort in being close to him for the stressful topic, as you had during your panic attack. You hadn’t removed yourself completely; you were seated with your back to the armrest, legs bent over his with your feet on the couch. It was easy to reach back around you and use gentle pressure to pull you against him so that your hair tickled his chin.

Connor tried to excuse is actions for wanting you to cooperate for the difficult subject matter, but having you close – feeling you – made his temperature rise and his thirium pump unnecessarily active. This time it took a moment for him to relax from a stiff posture. He knew you were aware he’d purposely curled you back against his chest, and that made him nervous. He couldn’t help but prepare his reaction if you rejected him but to his relief, you didn’t. His shoulders relaxed as you made yourself comfortable with a soft sigh.

“Firstly” – he remembered to gently pet your hair – “I must tell you that by definition you are in no way ‘fat’. Being so isn’t a bad thing, but you are not and you need to gain weight if you’d like to heal your body back to a comfortable state. Secondly, you easily meet the requirements to be called ‘beautiful’ and I think you are too.” He felt you tense up in his arms and found it hard to understand how facts and being healthy were upsetting to you. His free hand wandered down your arm to take hold of your own as another form comfort, one he’d enjoyed trying out in Hank’s bathroom. “Can you believe me when I tell you that?”

Your eyes watered all over again. No one had given you so much care and support in years, never mind the physical contact. You were warm and safe as you gripped Connor’s hand like he was keeping you on earth; like you’d spiral back into panic if you didn’t. The comfort and soothing was almost too much when you remembered to feel guilty. You didn’t know if you wanted to start turning things around, you thought you could lose a little more weight first. How dare you receive such care if you wouldn’t even take his advice? You thought of the panic attack, how horrible it had been and how much it reminded you of when things were much worse. Maybe it wasn’t worth it to stay sick and worsen your health.

“How can I believe something I can’t see?”

Your meek voice, shaky and soft, made Connor’s chest tighten. He thought of what he could say that might help; how he could help you in something that you could only help yourself in. He bought time by releasing your hand to tilt your chin up and catch your shining eyes with his. He pressed is mouth to your forehead as another gentle, soothing action. Every move he made with you in mind felt natural. This time you smelled like the shampoo that Hank bought. “You trust me, right?”

Mildly confused, you nodded. “With my life.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me when I remind you and believe me when I tell you what you are and aren’t. You can see me, so you can believe me when I remind you that you are beautiful, and that you are sick and deserve help and care.”

You gazed up at the android. He voiced his offer plainly and with such certainty while it overwhelmingly touched your heart. Could it really be that simple? But he wasn’t finished.

“And I’ll remind you every day, every hour, every minute if you need me too. I don’t need to sleep; I can remind you at any time. Until you’ve performed a full recovery, and even after that. I’ll call when we’re apart. If something were to happen to technology, I would send a letter. You are worth the effort, and I’ll be sure to remind of you of that as well.” Connor smiled softly down at you. Just the idea of being able to support you in a small way made him happy. “I wish I could do more, but it’s to my understanding that recovery as an adult outside of hospital is very much in your hands as it is your choice to better yourself and no one else’s. Although” – he softened his voice even more – “I would like you to know I’d very much like to see you feeling better.”

You figured Connor didn’t notice the weight of his proposal to help you. It was emotional, loving and intimate. He was offering so much of himself to you in a few simple sentences. You looked into his warm, expectant eyes. Maybe you could try. Logically, you knew continuing in your disordered habits was foolish. You’d recovered once; of course you could do it again. Of course, there was your distaste towards your weight... But that was okay. You could be ambivalent as you made better choices.

You set your palm on Connor’s cheek as indecision swirled around in your mind. His eyes seemed to shine with life even more as you rubbed your thumb over his cheekbone. The melancholic expression that had taken over your features slipped away for a content one as you noticed that for the first time in a long while, that nagging, sick voice in your mind had been quiet. The man holding you was certainly a worthwhile distraction. “I... Think I might like that.”

“Together, then.”

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i dont wanna talk about it I was like do I drag it on?? do i pull the cliche where she goes to bed and then says uwu stay with me hold me while i sleep??? and then i was thinking well maybe thats a stretch, i dont think i developed the relationship enough to go so far, and reader is a bad bitch anyways the couch is enough. and im like, am i a disappointment if they dont kiss?? boys dont solve mental illness!! it felt wrong, like taking advantage of weakness in a distressing "i need protection but not the condom kind" moment. then i figure alright dumbass just end it before it gets worse. no sense in dragging things out for an equally mediocre ending. so you get this, some fault in our stars "okay? okay" headassery
> 
> but thats okay (: because im just having fun and every time i write i work a little more at a satisfactory conclusion (:


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